Champagne Kisses (10 page)

To her right, against the wall, was a pair of wedge sandals, Donovan guessed three or four inches high. No wonder she was barefoot as she sat cross-legged on the floor. Who could reach the floor without breaking something in those towering things? Her toes were nice, too, he decided, painted in a respectful and corporate-conscious color of beige. He wanted to rub her feet, kiss her toes. He wanted to make intimate acquaintance with every area between there and those loose tendrils down the side of her face. His manhood twitched, growing hard at the ready. Donovan forced his thoughts elsewhere, took a long deep breath and reminded himself of his plan: to show Marissa the face of a good man.

He walked over and lightly squeezed her shoulder. Marissa jumped, saw that it was him and closed her eyes in relief. Pulling the earbuds out of her ear, she reached over and paused the iPod, as well. “You scared me,” she said breathily, placing a hand to her chest before standing. “I came in to look through these archives, not expecting anyone here until eight-thirty. That’s when Kat told me most of the employees arrived.”

“My business breakfast was canceled,” Donovan replied, his voice low, his eyes drawn to her mouth, as they often were, before slowly traveling back up to her almond-shaped, almost black orbs, with just a hint of a twinkle that came with her smile. “Good morning.”

Marissa chuckled, part nervousness, part nana tingling. “Good morning.”

“You’re here early.”

“Yes, I woke up before the alarm went off, thinking about the stories you’d told me about your family and how this vineyard came to be. I find it fascinating. When I couldn’t get back to sleep, I decided to come in and check out these pictures you told me about.” She walked over to one, showing three young children, two boys in cowboy getups and a girl in a frilly gingham frock, each holding a cluster of grapes. “This one is adorable, Donovan. But you and Dexter as cowboys? Really?”

Donovan laughed as he walked over to where Marissa stood. He knew exactly which picture she held, remembered where and when it had been taken as if it were yesterday. “Girl, I’ll have you know that there’s not a red-blooded boy alive who hasn’t wanted to be a cowboy at one point or another in his life. That’s if he knows what a cowboy is. My cousins in Louisiana are all excellent horsemen. I don’t do too bad myself.”

“You ride horses?” She asked the question with the same incredulity as if she’d asked, “You just returned from the moon?”

“Ha! Yes, baby, all of the Drakes know how to ride.”

He hadn’t meant to call her baby, hadn’t meant for the meaning of his sentence to contain such…heat. But with one offhand comment, a fire had started. He could see it blazing in Marissa’s eyes and knew that if he didn’t do something, like now, to tamp the flames, he’d make love to her right here on the file room floor. “Come with me.”

Marissa, with images of Donovan riding still dancing in her head, was caught off guard as Donovan placed a firm grasp on her arm and began walking over to where her shoes were lined toe-first against the wall. “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly.

“I want to take you on a quick tour of the vineyard.” He felt the heat from the arm he still held and quickly dropped it. But not before memorizing the silkiness of her skin and the faint hint of flowers that seemed a permanent part of all things Marissa.

“Are you sure we have time to do that now? There’s still so much work to do.”

“There will always be work,” Donovan said, quoting his grandfather, David, Jr. “But it’s a beautiful day, and since you’re playing such a part in the expanding of the Drake brand, I think it’s time you see firsthand how everything happens.”

Marissa had put on her wedge heels and her head now reached above his shoulder. She was insanely aware of him as they walked down the hall—the seriousness of his countenance, so unlike his playful brother’s, the musky smell of his cologne, the purposefulness in his stride. They went out a back door, next to where several golf carts sat parked and ready. “Can you get in?” Donovan asked, looking skeptically at Marissa’s heels.

“Ha! I’ve worn heels since I was twelve years old,” she responded, easily hopping into the passenger seat of the late-model cart. “I can run track in these things.”

“Ha!”

He started the cart and soon they were rolling across the immaculately manicured grasslands, off the beaten path. Instead of heading toward the hotel, with the stand-alone wine shop and cellar across the street, Donovan was taking them toward the vineyards, with Papa Dee’s Suite, the home Donovan’s ancestors had built, sitting majestically on the hill beyond. Marissa held on to the door and took in the scene, glad for the quiet and a moment to both settle her mind and rein in her feelings for Donovan.

“I read the story about that house,” she said after a moment, pointing to the white house on the hill with the slate red roof. “That was a beautiful story.”

“Yes, Nicodemus Drake was one heck of a man. Built that place alongside some of his neighbors at a time when owning land wasn’t always easy. I have the utmost respect for those men who came along in the nineteenth century, when life was hard and short. They paved the way for our success. I never forget that. Another reason I guess that for me, life is not a game.”

“Do you take after him?”

Donovan cut an eye over at Marissa to see if she was joking, but her expression was totally serious. “I’d like to think I do,” he said with a shrug. “But Daddy says I’m more like my grandfather, David Drake, Jr. Dexter takes after Papa Dee, not only in his love for wine-making, but also in his crazy personality.”

“Your brother does seem to have a zest for life.”

“Yes, he does. I do, too,” he added as an afterthought.

“I can see that.” When Donovan looked doubtful, she continued, “Really, I can. I’ve observed you with your family, your mother especially, at the engagement party and the wedding, too. You don’t show it much, but there’s a fun, softer side to you.”

“Oh, so you’ve been checking me out on the low, huh?”

“Please.” She smiled and didn’t deny what he said. “What about your sister, Diamond? Who do you think she takes after?”

“She’s probably more like Daddy, but she has some of Mama’s ways, too. But, then again, Papa Dee says that she has ways like his wife, my great-grandmother Luella.”

“Did you know her?”

Donovan nodded. “She died five years ago, at the age of eighty-nine.”

“Ah, so Papa Dee was rolling with a younger woman!”

“He’s still trying to do that. Last time they took him to the casino he tried to talk to a woman who was seventy-five.”

Marissa laughed, and to Donovan it sounded like magic, full and throaty yet light like fresh air. He could get used to hearing that laughter, he decided. In fact, when it came to him and thoughts about Marissa, he realized he could get used to a lot of things. For the next hour, he switched from family historian to tour conductor, showing Marissa the various plots and types of grapes, fermenting tanks, hoppers and presses. She was particularly fascinated with the storage area, the cellar, with its concrete walls that were several feet thick, and the oak barrels aging gallon upon gallon of wine. The coolness of the basement contrasted with the unspoken heat between Donovan and Marissa, ever present amid their innocent talk of vintages and wine types and growing up in Southern California.

By the time they returned to the office, the workday was in full swing. Donovan was immediately called into a meeting, one for which Marissa had taken information he’d given her and made impressive handouts. Marissa was busy replacing the pictures and folders left out during their impromptu vineyard tour before beginning her task of data entry. They didn’t see each other for the rest of the day, but Donovan was never far from her mind.

As it turned out, she was never far from his mind either. It had taken discipline honed through years of work to stay focused and mentally present as one meeting had run into the next. His mind kept drifting back to the look on Marissa’s face as they’d toured the grounds; her sparkling eyes and joyful laughter. The more he knew about her the more he wanted to know, and the more determined he became to find out.

Chapter 15

D
onovan watched as Genevieve eyed him speculatively. They’d just gathered around the dining room table for a light supper. Donovan was sure his mother had made his childhood favorite, tuna casserole, just for him. It was the weekend, and even though it was a working one he’d wanted to spend the evening with Marissa. But she’d declined, saying that because they’d be working the next day she planned to make short use of the hotel’s gym and then call it a night. So for Donovan, this was a quiet evening with Mom and Dad. Diamond and Jackson were still away, enjoying their honeymoon. Dexter was out on a date. And David, Sr., Junior and Mary had joined their senior group for bingo night at the casino. It was a rare dinner moment when he had his parents all to himself, a fact he found himself relishing almost as much as the fare in front of him. He sank his fork into another delicious forkful of gooey goodness: thick hunks of fresh tuna, sweet peas, thick egg noodles and an abundance of cheese, just the way he liked it.

“This is so good, Mama,” he said, after swallowing the bite. “Reminds me of those sleepovers after Friday night football. All of the other guys would want tacos or burgers but even so, you’d make a whole casserole just for me.”

“I think you got that from your Grandmother Mary,” Genevieve replied, taking a much daintier bite of the salad she’d made to accompany the main course. “It’s one of her favorite meals, as well.” She continued to look at her son, the smile on her face turning into a chuckle as she watched the exuberance with which Donovan was finishing off his second helping. “I remember something else about those nights. You always were the first to finish eating,” she gently admonished him. “You know, if Papa were here he’d remind you that the food isn’t going anywhere.”

“That’s for sure,” Donald said, scraping his fork across a cleaned plate in a nod to the chef’s skills. “And if Mama were here she’d tell you to chew your food thoroughly to help aid your digestion.”

“Well,” Donovan said as he continued his hasty devouring of the food on his plate, “it’s a good thing that they aren’t here!”

“It’s good to spend time with you, son.” Donald wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned back in his chair to observe his firstborn.

After taking a sip of tea, Genevieve commented, “You look happy.”

Donovan didn’t need to see a rod and reel to know when it was fishing season. “I am.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Sure.” Donovan finished his last bite and, after wiping his mouth, mirrored his dad’s relaxed position. “Right now, about thirty million of them.” That was the conservative projection from the Asian market over the next five years: thirty million dollars.

“You’re talking about your ongoing meetings with the Asian businessmen.” Genevieve didn’t walk the corporate office halls, but she knew what was going on as if she did. Donovan nodded. “But that’s not the meeting
I’m
talking about.”

“Oh?”

“No, the meeting I’m talking about would have given you about thirty-six reasons to be happy.”

Donovan shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

“Not yet, but you want to.” Donovan’s confused look caused both his parents to laugh. “Son,” Genevieve said, placing her elbow on the table and her chin in her cupped hand. “I’m talking about that thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six you’ve been working with these past couple days.”

“Ha!” Donald’s eyes sparkled as he eyed his wife.

“Oh, man,” Donovan groaned. “That one was pretty bad, Mama.”

Donald winked at his wife. “Hmph. I thought it was pretty good.” He continued laughing as Genevieve removed their dinner dishes and brought out dessert. “That was the two of you I saw the other morning, right? When your mom and I decided to change up our morning walk routine and go out by the vineyards?”

“You would decide to change courses that day,” Donovan mumbled.

“I think she’s a very pretty girl,” Donald offered.

“How is she working out, Don, at the office?” Genevieve asked.

“Very good. She’s smart,” he quickly added, lest his mother get ideas.

“You know what happened the last time one of my children gave a tour of the vineyard.”

“Enough already, Mama,” Donovan warned, but it was halfhearted.

“Dating Jackson’s assistant would definitely make life easier,” Donald speculated. “Keeping it in the family so to speak.”

“On that note,” Donovan said, rising from the table. “I think I’ll head back to the office. I want to go over the figures again before the next meeting with investors.”

“What, no dessert?”

Donovan leaned down and kissed his mother on the forehead. “I’ll get some later,” he said before leaving, knowing exactly which particular sweetness he’d like to taste. Marissa had said she needed time for her heart to heal, but their recent interactions had given him greater hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make like a doctor and assist in her recovery.

* * *

Marissa walked down the winding staircase from the second-floor gym and spa area to the lobby. She’d just enjoyed a ninety-minute workout, due only in part to the baked potato with everything on it that she’d had for lunch. No, she told herself. She was really working out to try to get Donovan out of her system.

After working with him the past five days, there was no use denying what she felt. The attraction was definitely there. And, yes, she might even be really, like
really,
in like with him. She’d even go that far. Okay, she’d do him in a heartbeat if not for the complications. Problem number one: he was her boss’s brother-in-law. What would happen if their time together ended badly? She pondered that while grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the gift shop. And while he seemed genuine enough, what if he was one of those low-key players, acting all serious and aboveboard with a harem on the down low? She’d get her heart broken, that’s what. Before knowing the truth, no one could have convinced her that her ex, Joseph, had multiple women and children to boot. Just because a man didn’t seem like a womanizer, didn’t mean he didn’t have dozens of prospects at the ready.